Tales of a Not-So-Lone Wanderer
by The3ofSpades
Summary: Fox and Butch started out in the cage that was Vault 101. When that cage finally opened, they were ready to be free and raise hell! M for substance abuse, suggestive content, foul language, and badassery.
1. 00: The Perfect Father

**INTRO**

James had been finishing up his work in the clinic for the evening when he was interrupted by the Overseer. A stern, strict man who was frequently concerned with his only daughter's state of health. This was an individual he could only manage to tolerate on a daily basis, but the current urgency in his voice and the frantic aura about him had the doctor worried. At first. He followed with hurried footsteps up to the Overseer's apartment. Both men burst into Amata's room. When James saw the young woman sitting idly in a chair with an apologetic look on her face, well, he cursed himself for falling for it. Again. How many times had Mr. Almodovar come to him like this?

Before he knew it he was arguing with Alphonse that his daughter did not have a life-threatening illness and she had only coughed to clear a simple irritation from her throat. The Overseer was no doubt going to question his credibility as a physician for the fifth time during the course of the conversation when he abruptly ended it. They'd been prattling on for far too long and he was tired. Alphonse ordered the doctor out of his sight and said doctor was always a happy man to follow that particular order. James hurried through the Vault's metal halls and toward the dining area where he had planned to have an important family meal with his son. Arriving at the scene of an empty diner, he regrettably realized that he was late.

"I hope Fox is not too disappointed."


	2. 01: The Perfect Home

_"The Vault is underground where the sun don't shine. There's no way to tell what time it is in the real world. The only thing down there is lights. Your clock's runnin on whoever programmed the settings on those lights to simulate each and every day. When the sun's supposed to be up, they're on. When the sun's supposed to be down, they're off. Not in Vault 101 though, with the radroaches and all. They're always on, bright in the day and bright in the night. You can't tell one day from the next. You have to trust the computer fastened to your arm that it's time to get up or it's time to go to sleep. That's one thing that really fucks with you."_

**01**

For all the young men and women of Vault-101, the Generalized Occupation Aptitude Test was soon arriving. The results of the G.O.A.T. would determine which Vault responsibility one is to be given or, more realistically, which job one is to hold until they are unable to perform it any longer. Naturally, this meant it was a very frightening and important step in one's life in the vault.

No parent wanted their child to end up a garbage burner. So, in honor and as emotional preparation for this most momentous of days, a special meal is held in the dining area for those young people and their families. It is a ritual for every generation to sit with their loved ones and dream about the future. A very forced and confined and often times disappointing future, but a future nonetheless. Among the many promising young individuals that would soon find the path to their careers, there was one who could not find the capacity to give a damn. His name was Fox.

Education and responsibility had been forcefully edited out of Fox's mental dictionary, as well as his physical one. With a thick black marker. If anyone would care to ask what kind of person he was, Fox would be the first to tell you that it wasn't a good one. He mostly enjoyed doing things that made people uncomfortable. That included growing his hair out to an unacceptable length and then shaving it off, but only on one side of his head. Along with his piercing gaze and unsettling smirk, he was confident he could make most people shiver without saying a word. But the muscle and sailor's mouth didn't hurt either if push came to shove. And push did often lead to shove. As well as bloody noses and black eyes, as fists were his weapons of choice.

These were things the wild Fox enjoyed pondering, not whether he was going to be operating the laundry cannon or programming pip-boys. That being said, he wasn't particularly excited about the G.O.A.T. He'd decided not to think about it too much though. The only thing that worried him at the moment was the headache that had been building since his Pip-Boy had alerted him that it was morning.

After trying to ignore the pain all afternoon in class, he was on his way to the clinic to complain to his father and request a pain-reliever. Or maybe two. Or six. In the middle of wondering just how many he could get away with, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the metal hall toward him. There he saw rounding the corner was the Overseer and his father. Before Fox could summon a wave and a smile, both men had already dodged around him, his father offering a simple "pardon me" as one would to any unfamiliar face.

Fox stood there awkwardly for a second, arm half-way up and mouth open in the beginnings of a grin. The echo of the men's footfalls disappeared around the opposite corner and he realized that he must have looked pretty pathetic. Dropping his arm and frowning, Fox sighed. The man was obviously in a hurry but it still seemed like there was no recognition. His father had not given the usual, "son" and nod combo. Even a "busy, son" would've sufficed. Was it the new hairstyle? The tiny knot in his chest was mocking him.

Judging by the distress on the men's faces, the Overseer must have gone to the clinic for medical assistance. Since he hadn't bumped into Amata that day, Fox guessed what it was. Now his father would be busy arguing with Mr. Almodovar for hours and miss dinner. All because of precious little Amata. Just thinking her name made the knot jump from his chest to his throat. Even though they were supposed to be friends, the young man had never really liked the Overseer's daughter. There was just something about her that he couldn't take a shine to.

It all must've started at his tenth birthday party. Old Lady Palmer had baked a sweet roll for him as a present. Apparently they were the kind of things only a grandmother could make; perfectly sweet, flaky and set to melt in your mouth. Fox was that odd kid who didn't like sweets much but he accepted it to be nice. So when Andy destroyed the cake and Butch DeLoria "asked" him for it, he happily gave it up. Upon seeing the transaction, Amata rushed over to ask him what had happened.

She was always so set on her opinions of others. Fox tried to tell her he gave up the baked good willingly but she wasn't having it. To Amata, Butch was a mad, mean bully and everything he did was wrong. That was his role and it couldn't be changed. Anything else just wouldn't make sense, of course.

Now that was what Fox didn't like about her: she judged people. He was no saint but she judged people for their actions without even considering what could be behind them. She didn't understand nor did she try to. And it wasn't just Butch, everyone had a label. Even him. He was labeled as her innocent best friend who wouldn't hurt a fly. In reality, he shot radroaches in the generator room with a BB gun. And he liked it. One day she would be devastated by her preconceptions and forced to face it all on her own, and in her ignorance, suffer the consequences.

Fox sighed again and buried that knot of emotions as deep as he could, like he was taught any self-respecting man should. Every time he thought about Amata he was reminded how much he didn't like her anyway. Whatever her eventual fate, he decided that for the moment he couldn't care less. He continued on his way to the clinic, shedding his previous thoughts with a roll of his shoulders and a crack of his neck. Jonas was the only one there to greet him:  
"Hey there, Fox. Your dad just left… what can I do for you?"  
"I got a headache is all. Anything you can give me?"  
Jonas gestured towards the table against the wall, "Sure, there's some aspirin over there."  
"Anything… stronger than that?"  
The assistant eyed the young man for a while before answering, "I don't think you need it. Why don't you just go have some water and lay down?"  
Fox rolled his eyes and went to go grab the aspirin bottle, "Yeah, yeah. This'll do."  
Jonas was closer to the table and snatched up the bottle before the young man could get to it. Taking out a single pill, he slipped the rest into his coat pocket.  
"_This'll do_," he said firmly, offering the round white capsule to Fox.  
He took it and sneered, "Yeah. Thanks."  
"No problem. You know where the drinking fountain is."  
Fox nodded, not really listening anymore, and popped the aspirin in his mouth. He swallowed it without any water and headed toward his father's office instead. Jonas was just about to follow him when Stanley Armstrong walked in for a visit. Since the residing doctor was absent, he moved to attend to him.

Closing the office door behind him, Fox was planning to do what he always did in this room: sit in his dad's chair with his feet up on the desk and play with the silly little bobblehead holding a syringe. That, however, was before he knew that the doctor was not going to be in and that his assistant was going to be busy with a patient. Almost immediately, Fox began rummaging through the desk drawers and file cabinets. He was attempting to be silent but every time he did not find what he was searching for, he became increasingly more frustrated. At the point where he was going to began tapping on the walls in-search of some hollowed compartment, he stopped. The quote that hung there was staring at him like it always did, forcing him to read it.

_'I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely.'_

Fox didn't know much about his mother. His father only talked about her frequently when he was young. Fox had eventually learned all he cared to know and his father talked about her less and less. From what he'd gathered though, Catherine was an amazing, beautiful, and passionate woman. She had loved her son so much that she gave her life bringing him into the world. All Fox had left of her was that quote. It was kind of like the framed piece of parchment on the wall was his mother, giving him the same stale wisdom every day.

The knot in his chest returned, bigger than before, but he shoved it back down with all the strength he could muster. This was something he didn't need right now. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, twice for good measure. He was just about leave when Jonas opened the door. The young assistant seemed surprised to see him standing there, though he neutralized his expression before he spoke.  
"I think it's best you leave. I have to close up soon anyway."  
"Yeah, alright. See ya," Fox mumbled.

Not waiting for a response, he pushed past Jonas and made way out of the clinic, toward his family apartment. He watched the metal move under his feet, not looking up and not needing to. Nothing ever changed in the Vault. His Pip-Boy showed it was evening but the lights in the hallway were still as bright as ever. The lights in his room were blinding too but he couldn't do anything about it. It was all unwavering. Life in the vault was all rules and schedules and rations and curfews. The progression of time gets lost when you're doing pretty much the same thing, day in and day out. Nothing changed in that place unless he physically changed it.

The knot in his throat was looking for a fight. It threatened to choke him and make his eyes water. He slammed the door button as hard as he could, not to have dramatic effect lost on automation. He stared at the floor, scrapped and dented by the countless times he's pulled and thrown furniture around the room. Stanley had been kind enough to unbolt some of the more stationary things from the ground just so he could rearrange it all whenever he wished. His own little act of rebellion. It was also calming. It let him feel like he had some sense of control over his life in the face of it all.

This was one of those moments. Fox started to move the heaviest things first, straining against the dresser with the drawers still attached. Then he set out on everything else. He pulled and pushed and let the sound and vibrations of scraping metal fill his head. By the end of it all, the knot had loosened and the only thing threatening to make him cry was the sweat falling into his eyes. Before long, it was time for all the young men and women to report to the dining area with their families. Fox headed to the showers first, just to wash the day away.


	3. 02: The Perfect Friends

_'Being forced to live with the same people all your life is the very definition of hell. You think you know what shit is, just try living a big metal box with a bunch of people you know you have some reason to hate. Sure, there are a lot of places to hide and you can ignore them for the most part but there's no way you can escape. It's like some fucked up experiment. The thought eats away at you until your trigger finger itches to just shoot them in their fucking mouth. Or just shoot yourself. But you know what? You ain't got a gun. So, yeah, there's only one thing you can do.'  
_  
**02**

The Vault's diner was full of its residents chatting away and picking at their rations. Mr. and Mrs. Mack were seated in the one the red booths with Wally and Susie. Mrs. Hannon and her son Paul shared the other booth with Mrs. Gomez and her son Freddie; both fathers were likely to join in later after their security duties. The Kendall family took up the stools at the bar, wary of Andy floating around behind it even though Stanley was there to watch him. Mr. Brotch and a few other recognizable faces were sitting at the tables that lined the walls. Most notably absent from the special event were the Overseer, the Overseer's daughter, Fox's father, and also, Ellen DeLoria.

Butch DeLoria sat by himself on one of the stools lining the window, one plate in front of him and another in front of the empty seat beside him. The leader of the Tunnel Snakes would normally be accompanied by his fellow gang members but Paul and Wally were busy at dinner with their mothers. Butch's own mother was probably drunk and forgot all about where she was supposed to be. That or she was passed out on the floor of the DeLoria apartment, as was her state fifty percent of the time. It really was a shame.

Fox spotted him almost immediately when he walked through the door and B-lined toward him. The greaser was too busy staring out the window into the empty metal hall to notice someone sit down next to him. It was very uncharacteristic of him to appear so deep in thought. Not wanting to ruin it, Fox remained quiet. That was, of course, up until he started to make quite a bit of noise with the utensils and the plate in front of him. Butch whirled his head around to catch Fox stuffing a full fork into his mouth.  
"What's buzzin, cuzzin?" he smiled, mouth half-full of food.  
"What the hell do you think you're doin'?"  
"Sittin'. Eatin'."  
"That plate's for…" the older male paused and then shook his head, "Ah, who am I kiddin', she ain't comin'."  
"My dad ain't either," Fox swallowed and nudged Butch's arm with his elbow, "And only nerds sit alone, right?"  
The other couldn't help bit smile a little. "Yeah, well… whatever. Nice haircut."  
"Better than yours, jackass."  
"Oi, fuck you."  
"Fuck you too."

Butch hadn't really touched his food until Fox showed up. He had seemed to be contemplating something big. Most of the other residents of Vault-101 assumed the gang-leader was some troubled ne'er-do-well without a single thought in his head except delinquency. Fox knew better. Butch DeLoria was a troubled ne'er-do-well with lots of thoughts in his head, they were just angry thoughts and the only way he knew how to express them was through his fists. That was why the two young men had a system.

Fox knew Butch had problems, and while they probably weren't as bad, Butch knew Fox had problems too. Both started out as difficult little kids. You put two kids like that together in an enclosed environment and something's bound to happen. Without anyone to stop them, something did. They were willing participants in the fights they had. Whoever threw a punch or an insult, the other was expected to throw one back twice as hard. They worked their anger out any chance they got. If anyone had been paying attention over the years they would have seen how progressively less hostile both of them had become, at least with each other. They'd become the best of enemies.

As was their custom, they pushed their food around in relative silence. They weren't the most talkative types, other than foul language and slander. After some time, everyone else had finished their meals and the activities for the night were winding down. Fox had lost his appetite much earlier than that. He had moved his plate and laid his head in his arms on the counter in front of him. The headache from earlier had lessened considerably but what little he'd consumed wasn't settling very well in his stomach. He'd been listening to the steady stream of voices grow quieter and quieter until they were only a few murmurs in the background, his mind half-dazed.

"Hey," someone said to him, very close, and he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Unsure how much time had passed, Fox assumed it was his father. Not wanting to move much, he only maneuvered his hand to place it atop the one resting on him.

The other hand quickly jerked away, "Hey, asshole. Don't be getting fresh with me."  
Fox regretfully pushed himself into a sitting position. Butch was standing near, leaning his elbow on the counter, one of those wily smirks on his face.  
"Oh, sorry," Fox faked a pleasant yawn, "I was just having a nice dream about your mother."  
Before he could even think about regretting what he'd said, Fox felt a grip on the back of his jumpsuit. He was pulled down backwards off of the stool, onto the floor, head hitting first. Butch stood over him, fists at his sides.  
"Thanks for giving me my headache back, you lousy fuck!"  
Butch growled, "Stand up and I'll give you more than that."  
"Wouldn't you rather come down here and give it to me, Butch?" he winked.  
"You bet!"

Fox rolled onto his chest, narrowly missing the boot aiming for his ribs. He sprang up as fast as he could, stomach lurching in pain as he did. The rush to his head had blinded him and all he saw and felt was a blurry hand ram into his chest. Loosing balance, vision still spotty, he grasped at the counter. A plate fell to the floor and shattered. He managed to steady himself, taking a stance and putting his fists up. Despite the throbbing in his head and the ache in his stomach, the biggest grin was suddenly plastered on his face. Butch snarled and closed the distance between them, arm pulled back to fire a punch.

"Both of you stop it!" someone shouted, and there Officer Gomez came running over and wedged in between them. Butch tried to throw a punch, failing when the security officer forcefully pushed the two boys apart. One slammed up against the jukebox and the other fell against one of the stools, feet slipping wildly on the ceramic shards littering the floor before he could get a grip. There were few people left in the diner but those that were there couldn't help but gawk. Fox took one panoramic look at the assembly around them before his eyes landed solely on the young man who'd almost kicked his ass. His expression could only be described as the most ridiculous pout. Fox couldn't help but smile at him, which in turn made Butch flip him the bird.

"Uh, now listen you two," Officer Gomez hesitated, "I don't want to have to lock you boys up again, so, why don't you just both go home and calm down? OK?"  
Butch scoffed and fixed his hair, "I'm always calm."  
When Gomez turned to Fox, he merely straightened up and nodded. At that, the small crowd that had gathered dispersed. Paul and Wally went to go congratulate their leader on an impressive show but were intercepted by their fathers, who had arrived with Gomez, and were forcefully escorted out of the diner. They weren't allowed to see Butch until morning.

Things quieted down. No longer perceiving the boys as a threat to each other, Officer Gomez left with his family. Everyone else followed. Andy was the last to go after he'd dealt with the broken plate and food on the floor. Soon the diner was empty except for the two young men smothered in silence. When Fox could no longer hear the metal clanging footfalls of the other residents, he groaned and collapsed in a stool, arms spread out behind him on the counter.  
"You could've at least given me a warning first, mother fucker!" he barked and the other moved to stand by him.  
Butch tilted his head up with all the bravado he could muster and looked down the bridge of his nose as he firmly stated, "You know better than to mess with a Tunnel Snake."

Fox's lips started to twitch and he held his breath as long as he could, but couldn't for the life of him hold it back. He exploded with laughter. Butch's face bloomed red and he looked like he was about to start another fight. The other noticed and tried to restrain himself.  
"Oi, you better shut it before I pound you into the fuckin' ground."  
Fox had finally dissolved into a light chuckle. Then, he couldn't help but purr, "You know I like it when you talk dirty."  
Butch snorted. "Whatever, fag."  
"Hey!" he snapped back, "You're the one who seems t'get off when I make you angry."

Right after the words left his mouth, Butch's expression became very dark. He seemed unnaturally lost again in contemplation, until he unexpectedly spoke, voice tired and gruff.  
"Not when you fuckin joke around about my mother, alright? You can't-," he hesitated, then shook his head and made way for the door, "No, you know what? I ain't explainin nothin' to you."  
"Yeah, whatever. G'night, Butch," Fox sighed, exhausted, "Go drink your sorrows away like that bitch."  
The other halted in the doorway, his next words whispered with venom, "At least I have a mother."  
Fox stood up and snarled. "Fuck. You."  
"Fuck you too," the other mumbled. He then disappeared, footfalls dying away like all the other's.

Fox sat there for what seemed like hours, glaring angrily at the spot where Butch's words still hung. A cloud of tension had formed over him; knots everywhere aching, body twitching, head pounding, stomach churning. This time he couldn't bury it all and he couldn't stretch away. Then, there were footsteps. Not sure whose they were, not wanting anyone to see him like he was, he bolted. His Pip-Boy showed him it was time for bed. The day needed to be over; he needed sleep and then he could wake up and forget everything like it never happened. The dresser called to him and he yanked out the bottom drawer, emptying its contents onto the floor. He'd been searching through it for a few minutes before he realized there was nothing there. He remembered he couldn't find any in the clinic or his father's office. He started to sweat.

Without the Med-X, that night was going to be hell.


	4. 03: The Perfect Life

_'Those lights fuck with your eyes, yeah, but so does the smell in there. The air filtration system is supposed to make everything seem natural. But it's not right, it dries your mouth in your sleep. Then there's the noise! If it's not someone pacin' around it's the pipes or whatever the hell they got runnin' under the floor and in the walls. After years in there, you get used to it. But then sometimes you get pissed off that you're used to it. Then you're lookin' for ways to get rid of it since you can't just fuckin' leave. One thing good about the vault is that it's safe. No serious injuries. So that means they got a whole lot of stuff piled up that'll numb you till you just don't give a fuck anymore.'_

**03**

Med-X is a highly potent and significantly addictive painkiller. In the medical world, it is used on patients to treat their moderate to severe pain and help ease a variety of ailments. Its effects gave it momentous popularity in legal (and illegal) circles.

As with scores of other drugs, testing began immediately on the additional applications it might have. The most notable discovery was on the battlefield. It was found that Med-X could make a soldier impervious to pain and raise their damage resistance to near super-human levels. The downside was that the withdrawals produced soldiers exhibiting lessened coordination and reaction times. With further research however, it was concluded that in small, continuous doses the negative side-effects could be avoided. Once the proper channels were maneuvered, Med-X began under U.S. military direction to be mass-produced and distributed. Because of the nature of the Vaults, those were listed for shipments as well.

Along with the other necessary medical supplies, Vault 101 was equipped with a reserve of Med-X in its clinical facility. The Overseer kept diligent records on distribution of all materials but it wasn't really large enough to garner much attention. With lack of real need for it, it had been left in sealed preservation until the day that James invited his son to assist him in taking the biannual inventory of the clinic's provisions.

It was also a simple enough task for just James and Jonas alone, but lately James had noticed how restless his son was and decided to help him occupy his time. The good doctor was surprised at the boy's enthusiasm but it was a welcome change. He gave his son the responsibility of going through the store room to check expiration dates. Boring, but easy enough for the kid. And safe, or so he thought. It only took him a couple minutes to notice the dusty case of Med-X in the corner and then curiosity got the better of him.

Fox had only snatched a couple vials and syringes, just to have them, not really sure what he was going to do with them. They'd been hidden away in the bottom drawer of the dresser in his room. That was until a few weeks ago when he started to feel empty, to feel like he was trapped. Like the walls were closing in. Like if he didn't do something soon he was going to end up doing something he'd regret. Fucking Amata, for instance.

Even though he could barely stand it when she opened her mouth, he got to thinking that there were a lot of other things her mouth could be used for. That's when he started acting a little more friendlily toward her, as much as he could without wanting to slit his own throat anyway. It was all going smoothly until one day when Amata and the Tunnel Snakes got into a little confrontation. It wasn't a rare occurrence. Butch always liked to mess with the Overseer's daughter but she knew how to handle herself. Fox never paid much attention until that day. He'd gone up to Butch and his gang and made them run along, thinking he'd win a few extra points with Amata.

The points he won were far too many for his liking. At first she only ate lunch with him but after that she started walking with him in the halls and sitting by him in school and going to his room to see if he'd like to read Grognak the Barbarian with her. It was driving him insane. And yet, he'd convinced himself it'd be worth it in the end. That was, of course, until he'd heard a few of the older female Vault residents gossiping. They joked about how he and Amata would be married in the future and have beautiful children. The thought disgusted him.

He hated her, kids, and even the thought of marriage. But that was only part of it. It was more because he hated the attitude that someone could be so _comfortable_ in the Vault. They didn't seem to think that there could possibly be anything else, gossiping about a hollow existence. The resentment toward their words stuck around all day, not even the gnarly fight he'd picked with Butch and Wally at the same time got it out of him. Even with the black eye and bloody nose.

In bed, he was stuck just laying there. Not awake and not asleep, staring at the lighted ceiling with what felt like agitated bees buzzing around in his head. He was tossing and turning for hours until he finally remembered the bottom drawer of his dresser. Being around in the medical office for so long, much of what he did was read the files and reports to pass the time. He knew what Med-X could do. Using the syringe, he took up a reasonable dose from one of the vials and injected it into his arm.

The first few moments were awful. As the drug carved its way through his system it felt like lead was being pumped into his veins. It took a considerable amount of effort to hide the evidence and slink his way back into bed. HIs whole body felt heavy and slow, made of stone. Lying there, he saw all of his problems and worries in front of him. But then he gradually realized that he just didn't care. His breathing slowed until he felt barely alive and the buzzing in his head muted into nothing. The room went black and silent and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Fox had been using the Med-X to fall asleep every night for the past few weeks. But now all he had was gone. James would've personally denied the thought of his son ending up an addict so it must've been Jonas that got wise and hid the case. That's why Fox couldn't find it when he went searching earlier that day. That's also why his eyes were currently wide open; staring at the blurry green light of the Pip-Boy on his arm which told him it was way too late in the night to be awake. The stomach pain, muscle ache, and sweat made it so he couldn't stay still. He couldn't fall asleep without the Med-X. Every little worry and heartache was prodding at his brain. What were once agitated bees was now a raging hornet's nest in his mind. He needed to dosomething!

Even though the lights in the hall were as bright as they always were, no one would be in them. The Overseer enforced a strict curfew. When your Pip-Boy clock showed 11, you were supposed to be restricted to your apartment. Unfortunately for the Overseer, the delinquents of Vault 101 frequently broke curfew and snuck out often to where the cameras weren't allowed. Due to grievous privacy concerns, Vault 101 was not equipped with security cameras in its bathrooms. The security cameras weren't exactly the most heavily monitored devices in any case, but privacy was completely ensured in the can.

The public bathroom was the ideal place, the restrictions significantly limited traffic to that area. The guards on patrol from 11pm till 4am, when the curfew is implemented, are the only ones passing through at any time. Being so that all guards are male, the female public restroom is normally completely unsecured throughout the night. That in particular was Fox's destination and, after the events of earlier, he was sure to at least find one thing he was looking for. Luckily he never needed to sneak far.

There was Butch, clearly visible, sitting on the floor against the wall of the girl's bathroom. His head was down and inattentive, elbows resting on his crooked knees, the mouth of a whiskey bottle hanging gingerly between his fingertips. Fox entered and pushed a button on the wall to close the door. Making his way over the slumped figure, he knelt down and snatched the bottle from his hand. Almost half empty already, must've taken it right from his mother.  
"You're supposed to shut both doors, man," Fox whispered, taking a swig of whiskey. Butch rested the back of his head on the cool metal behind him. After his eyes had adjusted to the light, he gave Fox a hard look and snatched the bottle back.  
"Hey there, nosebleed. You look like absolute shit."  
"Nosebleed? I'll take it you've calmed down. You should apologize, by the way."  
"Yeah, whatever," he droned and took a drink. "You can kick my ass later."

Butch offered him back the bottle but he refused, not liking the way it hitched and burned in his throat. It didn't compliment the pain in his gut. Everything sore, but particularly his legs, he pulled himself over to sit by his only friend. He leaned his back on the wall next to Butch and copied his position. They both stared at nothing for a while before Fox spoke again,  
"Hey. What do you think about Amata?"  
"Whiny bitch," Butch snorted. "Someone needs t'cut her tongue out so she'll stop runnin' her mouth."  
"Ha, alright. How 'bout Christine?"  
"Christine's a bitch too." He smirked, "She puts out well enough though."  
"You and her? I always thought you and Susie had a thing."  
"Susie? Yeah right, Wally would _kill_ me."  
"Oh yeah," Fox wiped the sweat from his face with the arm of his jumpsuit. "Slim pickin's, huh?"  
Butch took one last gulp of the whiskey before he set the bottle on the ground.  
"You got it in good with Amata though, man. I heard old Beatrice and Gloria blabbing 'bout how you twos was gonna get hitched or some shit."  
"Oh, fuck that. I'd sooner marry you than her."  
"Ha. Yeah, but you're gonna be the bitch 'cause I ain't wearin' no dress."

Fox tried to laugh, it was funny, but a catch deep in his throat made him cough instead. The rapid, painful expulsion of air reverberated through his whole body. He coughed again. Then he started to shake, started to feel horribly nauseous, a cold sweat blanketing his forehead. Before he knew it, he'd busted through one of the stall doors and was over the toilet, emptying his stomach. It felt like his lungs were dissolving and the rest of his organs were burning their way up into and out of his mouth. He threw up a few times, gagging until there was nothing left. The acid burned worse than the whiskey.

"Dude! What the fuck?"  
When the convulsions stopped, reality slowly became more apparent. Warm hand was firm on his shoulder, comforting, but not much against the stinging smell of vomit in his nostrils and sour taste burning his mouth. Fox didn't want to collapse over the bowl so he turned and fell back against the inside wall of the stall. Butch was stooped down by him, hand now holding open the door.  
"I thought you could hold your drink, man."  
"That's not it." Fox wiped his mouth on his arm. "Fuck. Fuckin' Med-X, man. I just- fuck!"  
"Well, whatever," Butch's tone was hasty, "We should get outta here."  
If anyone was around outside, they'd probably heard the heaving sounds. Fox got a grip on the wall and tried to push himself him. Sweaty palms made him slip but Butch was there to catch him. The older male slung the younger's arm behind his neck and slipped a hand around his waist in support. It was quite a maneuver in the small stall but both managed to get out and make way toward the door.

"I can't believe this shit, gotta carry your junkie ass home." Butch sighed as he dragged him out of the girl's restroom and into the boy's, the only shortcut.  
"I didn't ask for your help, dipshit," Fox grumbled. Butch made move to let go of his arm and he frantically clung to the leather of his jacket, feet almost slipping out from under him. His stomach lurched, "Oh, fuck you."  
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he scoffed, helping him back up, "Now shut your trap before Gomez finds us."

Quietly as they could, they made way into James and Fox's apartment. Butch set the other down on the couch, not willing to take him any farther. Despite that, he stood there for a while looking down at the rather pathetically sprawled figure.  
"What, you want a kiss goodnight or something?" Fox sighed, agitated, "Hurry up and get the fuck out."  
Butch rolled his eyes and stuck a hand in inside his jacket, pulling out a silver flask. The snake emblem of his Vault gang was crudely etched onto its face.  
"Here," he mumbled, holding it out to him, "Just give it back to me later or I'll murder you."  
Fox reached out and grabbed the flask, surprised at how full it was. After fumbling around with it for a few seconds he slipped it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.  
"Thanks, man."  
"Yeah, whatever," Butch grunted. After a quick wave, he didn't stick around.

Fox watched the door close and then kept lazily staring at it. He eventually passed out with the dizziness and whirling sensations of pain and dehydrating sweat. A half-hour or so later he was woken gently by his father. Despite everything or maybe because of it, he smiled to see a familiar face, blurry as it was.  
"Son? Son, are you alright?"  
He sounded so concerned. A cold fabric was dabbing at the sweat on his forehead.  
"The Overseer contacted me on the intercom. Stanley has fallen ill. I am supposed to go check up on him but you… I could send Jonas if-"  
"N-no," Fox interrupted, "You go see, um, y'know, the Overseer called you. Let Jonas take care of me."  
He felt a warm hand on the side of his face.  
"Are you sure?"  
Fox brushed the hand of with his own shaky one.  
"Mmhm... You go and then call Jonas."  
"Alright then," James whispered, placing the wet towel on his son's head. "You just stay here."  
"Yeah, dad."  
"Alright."  
After draping a blanket over the boy, he left. Jonas appeared a while later and escorted Fox to the clinic where a cot was waiting, special just for him.


	5. 04: Future Imperfect

_'The Vault's hell but one's existence in it is the fucking eternal damnation. When you turn ten years old you get a computer strapped to your wrist. Talk about insane; you can't even remove it without risk of blowin' your goddamn arm off. Other than being annoying, it's got a bunch of useless fuckin' features: Your physical fitness monitor for life in promised safety and security, an inventory list for all the shit rationed out to you, a map so you don't get lost in an underground box and a to-do list. Oh, and a clock and some memory drive, which are probably the only things worth a damn. There's a radio too, but if you didn't want to slit your own throat when you were down there, you didn't fuckin' use it. After six or so years of it all being a pointless waste, you get a job. After that, fuck it, you're supposed to die.'_

**04**

"That was quite a scare last night but, as far as I can tell, you're a perfectly healthy teenage boy. So yes, you have to take the G.O.A.T."  
James was expecting some refusal or rebuttal; something typical of a teenager being told to do a task they had clearly expressed no interest in doing. But there was nothing of the sort. The boy merely nodded, fidgeting in the seat within his father's office, dull green eyes wandering around the room. Seeing nothing further to be gained in keeping him, the nod was returned. The boy jumped up at the chance to leave. James couldn't help but sigh as he watched him go.  
"Good luck, son."

Jonas had been waiting outside the door. The man smiled, catching the boy's arm as he tried to hurry by.  
"Stopped by the clinic before class, huh sport? Today's the big G.O.A.T. day, isn't it?"  
The young man made no move to wrestle away. He seemed riled yet clearly defeated, avoiding eye-contact at every turn. Both the male's expressions went flat.  
"Listen. I didn't tell your dad, if that's what you're wondering."  
"Thank you," the boy whispered, finally trying to tug away. The older man did not let go off his arm, grip tightening instead.  
His voice was hardened and low, "You're lucky that I could treat that addiction, sport. Damn lucky. So, now you promise me that I won't have to do that ever again. For your father's sake?"  
"I- I promise."  
The man smiled again and released his arm. Giving him a firm pat on the shoulder, he chuckled warmly as if the boy had told him a joke.  
"Well, that's good to hear. I wish you luck then!"

Fox struggled to restrain the urge to bolt toward the exit as quick as possible. No matter how fast his feet were going, his mind was traveling infinitely faster. Heading out into the hallway, he found an empty spot on the wall to duck against and try to calm the swarm in his head.

Jonas had known from the very beginning. To counteract James' pacifistic attitude toward parenting, the young assistant made it his duty to keep a careful eye on the boy when his father couldn't. Fox tried not to draw attention to himself, more attention than usual anyway. Thinking someone could control an addiction was the underestimation of the year, one that eventually called for desperate measures.

Jonas was the only person he could honestly turn to. The man knew someone had taken Med-X from the supply room, recognized the boy's symptoms, and made the obvious connection. Jonas was a professional, he knew what to do. He could help, he had to. What Fox couldn't figure out was why Jonas didn't tell James. Why didn't he mention that he'd spent the rest of the night and all the early morning hours relieving Fox of his withdrawals? The thought was maddening; no amount of doctor-patient confidentiality should have kept that information from slipping.

He'd seen the report though, the false excuse Jonas had punched in as warrant for the equipment and supplies he'd used. But Fox wanted to know why! Perhaps it was because his father wouldn't have taken such news about his only son well. Perhaps it was just because the consequences from the Overseer would've been too severe. Or perhaps it was because the young medical assistant was sympathetic, with secrets of his own to hide.

A million ideas swamped his brain; so many whispering and screaming tendrils that concentration was impossible. He attempted to get rid of them all, imagine each being ripped from his mind and disintegrating into the air around him. A burning in his chest seemed to materialize with every voice that left him until he realized it wasn't from his mental exercise. He had just forgotten to breathe.

The gasp of air settled everything around him, bringing with it a sense of relief as the fuzzy contours of the walls grew back into focus. Fox could think clearly again, hear agitated voices and catcalls that definitely were not coming from his own head. He straightened himself up, running a cold hand through the hair on the unshaven half of his head. The laughter was echoing from farther down the hall. Only a couple of strides and he could see what was going on.

The slight nasally, whiny quality to the voice made it instantly recognizable.  
"Get out of my way, you stupid Tunnel Snakes!"  
Amata must've been cornered by the gang on her way to class. Butch got comfortable against the wall next to her.  
"I can show you a _real_ tunnel snake, girl."  
Paul and Wally backed up their leader with sinister chuckles. Amata's knees buckled inward when a wily smirk crept up onto Butch's face. She crossed her arms over her chest and pulled nervously at the fabric of her jumpsuit. In her body language, it was obvious she was scared, but her face showed the opposite, brow tightened and lips pursed in a sign of sheer annoyance. They just liked messing with the Overseer's little girl. Fox could never imagine them trying anything as serious as what they were implying.

Fox was finally noticed by the group after another round of laughter. The leader of the leather-clad punks eyed him over.  
"Looks like you're having fun, Butch."  
Amata shot him a quick, agitated glance.  
"Oh, not as much as we're gonna have later. Isn't that right, A-ma-ta?"  
Paul and Wally chuckled, and to the horror of the girl, gave each other high-fives. Their leader only winked and made a crude pelvic gesture at her. As much as Fox didn't want to get involved, he couldn't miss the chance.  
"Y'know Butch, you're lookin' a bit off. Why don't you come by my room later and I'll show you how it's really done?"  
Miss Almodovar's giggle probably meant she thought he was on her side, but it didn't matter to him anymore. It was great to see the gang and its leader so flustered again. Just like old times.  
"You little-"  
"What's he mean, boss?"  
"Shut up you two! Just fuck off, pipsqueak."  
Fox smiled triumphantly and did a quick about-face before the older male could start a fight over what he was going to say next.  
"Whatever you want, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight."

Mr. Brotch was there to greet him as he came through the entrance of the classroom. Instead of exchanging pleasantries with his teacher, Fox dashed to a desk in the front and sat down. Butch was a few seconds behind him, he could hear the squeaking of boots as the greaser and his gang rounded the corner. They came to a dead stop in front of Mr. Brotch, where the man eyed them all, pointing at the other empty desks  
"Welcome to the G.O.A.T., gentlemen. We will start as soon as _everyone_ has found a _seat_."  
Reluctantly, they all occupied a desk. Amata was soon to follow after she came strolling through the door. A pencil eraser prodding the back of his head was sure evidence that Butch had taken the chair behind him.  
"I'll get you for that, nosebleed."  
He laughed, "Looking forward to it, hotshot."  
Mr. Brotch glared at the young men with a '_I saw that fight you two got into last night and so help me god, if you try that shit here'_ look. Butch put the pencil down and Fox sat up straight but neither could hold back a smile.

The Vault teacher took a deep breath and congratulated everyone for finding the classroom but now it was time to sit down, shut up, and take the G.O.A.T.. Once the exhilarating ego boost from earlier had died down, Fox finally realized the situation he was in. It was one he had dreaded since he first began to question his existence in Vault 101.  
"Fuck this," he groaned, perhaps a little too loud.  
Mr. Brotch perked up, told him to keep quiet and just answer the question. He hadn't even heard what was asked. Looking through the answers though, beating someone in the head with a pipe sounded like an entertaining option. At least he'd have a bit of fun with this test before finding out what torture he was going to be subjected to.

Fox zoned in and out, marking down the more gruesome of the options. When it got to a question about positions, he scribbled out the soccer option and wrote down another: _Missionary_. The rest of the test was forfeit; he went ahead and circled random answers, any amusement he was getting out of it was failing fast. Fox was beginning to remember why drug addiction seemed like a feasible alternative to life here. But, no, he promised Jonas he wouldn't go through that again. Whatever the hell that was worth.

A pencil eraser prodded him again, this time in the forehead. Fox was about to punch someone in the mouth but he looked up and saw Mr. Brotch standing in front of him.  
"You seemed to be quite deep in thought. I didn't know whether to be surprised or concerned, actually. Have you finished the G.O.A.T.?"  
Fox handed him his paper and watched as the man quickly eyed back and forth between it and his rusty old clipboard.  
"Well, I've never heard of anyone getting this before. Tattoo artist? Wonder who'll be your very first customer. I promise it won't be me."  
"Wait, did you say tattoo artist?"  
"Yep. And that spark in your eyes scares me a bit, kiddo. Go ask your dad about it, you've got the rest of the day off."

Fox nodded and got up, noticing that his classmates had already left. How long had he been just sitting there? He quickly made his way out of the classroom. As he made his way down the hall, a hand to his chest came out from around a corner and stopped him. Butch was leaning there, his gang nowhere in sight.  
"Fuck that test, took you long enough."  
He brushed the hand away, "I said my room tonight. Or couldn't you wait that long?"  
"I'd break your goddamn fucking nose right now if I didn't need you as a drinkin' partner first. Let's go."  
The thought of alcohol made his stomach churn, "Y'know, the last experience I had didn't go so well."  
"That's because you're a pussy. Just don't be so much of one this time."  
"Yeah, fuck you. Where you gonna get booze anyway? I thought your mom already used up her ration cards for the week."  
"I have my methods. And you still got that flask I gave you, right?"  
"Of course," he grinned, "It's in my room though. So why don't you just come by tonight?"  
Butch ignored the insinuation and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him along toward the apartment. Fox tried to pry his jumpsuit from Butch's hand but he was still too weak from his prior ordeal.  
So he decided to just roll with it, "Why you in such a rush to get smashed anyway?"  
"Because I just found out I'm gonna be a barber for the rest of my life. If you were me, wouldn't you wanna get fucked up and beat the shit out of some snot-nosed punk who talks way too much and asks way too many fucking questions?"  
"Touché."


End file.
